


Revenge is a Fool's Game

by the_only_iris



Series: The Honourable Cowboy [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Romance, Tragedy, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2019-10-16 11:11:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17548586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_only_iris/pseuds/the_only_iris
Summary: When Rebecca Johansson meets death for the fourth time, she wants to be ready.But, instead, she meets vengeance. And Arthur. But, he doesn't know that. Moreover, he doesn't know a great many things.Bandages. Dumb boys. Gunslinging. A girl dressed as a boy.Revenge may be a fool's game but Arthur's the biggest fool around.Arthur Morgan x Disguised!OC





	1. Riley Johansson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rebecca Johansson was fascinated and disappointed with death.

Death came in many forms.

The first time Rebecca Johansson met death was when it came to her grandmother.

It wasn’t a painful sort of feeling, she was barely four years old at the time—she couldn’t remember everything, but remembered what was worth remembering. Death embraced her grandmother on that cold winter night and took her away gradually in a quick but soothing pace. There wasn’t a great deal of sadness around them since her grandmother was quite old, but a sort of tragic happiness that was indicative of how painless the passing was.

The second time Rebecca Johansson met death was when it hit her dog, Franny.

Franny was a stray mongrel when Rebecca found him; almost brown all over but a few white spots here and there. She was twelve when Franny passed, but this time the experience was different. It was as if death were mad at her, and didn’t embrace Franny the way it had her grandmother. Franny screamed in pain the whole time, vomiting his guts out and bleeding from his eyes. Rebecca and her brother, Riley, cried—they cried, not understanding death’s cause.

The third time Rebecca Johansson met death was the time she swore that the next time she met death would be under her control.

The third time, death was furious—but death’s anger only infuriated her more. A gang came out of nowhere and infiltrated her village, humiliated the women, haunted the men and killed her parents. She was confused, as to why death so comfortably sat on that fat man’s hands as he murdered her parents, and was angered with how death chose sides on random. She vowed that the next time she saw death would be when it was under her control. She would beckon death and wrap it around her finger. 

> Death came in many forms, but the only form she wanted to see was of vengeance.

 

* * *

_January 23, 1884, Somewhere near Houston._

*****

“Ey,” Horace Newcomb, the leader of the Ferriers’ Gang, beckoned Riley, Rebecca’s younger brother. “What’re you doin’ down there? Get yer ass over and clean up this mess!”

Rebecca watched carefully. It had been close to three weeks since the Ferriers’ killed her parents and looted the village. Yet, they wouldn’t leave. They were treating Riley like a slave and thankfully, didn’t treat Rebecca like a whore. Instead, she cleaned around and kept to herself, being timid and weak—must have made the others pity her for her sorry state.

Riley squealed when Horace’s younger brother, Dalton, placed his feet on Riley’s back. Rebecca was angered, but she had learned to maintain her composure; she went back to cleaning the dishes quietly, almost as if the situation was not fazing her. Three weeks was what she had plotted in her head; three weeks and she would control death. At night, they would throw her brother and her inside a room, four rooms away from where Dalton and Horace slept. The gang was quite large—there were 12 men who were loyal in terms of killing, raping, and looting. However, the leader was who she had her eyes set on.

Rebecca had managed to sneak in a knife from the kitchen one afternoon when the gang members were asleep. Hiding it took the life out of her, her anxiety peaked till the brim, but she knew she had to do it. She only wondered how long it would take for them to visit her at night and try to rape her, but her being seventeen years old and looking like she was thirteen must have driven them away. She felt thankful that they weren’t pedophiles, but the thankfulness was out of spite. That night, she promised herself that she would summon death using the knife. That night, she promised she would get her younger brother out of there and to safety.

However, that night, death didn’t show.

Horace grabbed Rebecca’s hand as the knife fell off her grip. Her eyes were wide and she knew she was done for. Horace’s loud yell woke Dalton up, and the brothers were furious. She was quiet; she had been quiet till she came to the bed to where Horace was asleep. However, the man was suddenly woken up over something mysterious. She couldn’t tell.

“Yer smell woke me up, ya lil’ bitch!” Horace kicked Rebecca down, her face hit the hard wooden floor. Another kick broke one of her ribs, but no sound came out of her. Being a port town meant that they could get away from throwing her body into the ocean, but that thought suddenly didn’t do much to ease her nerves. It was now Dalton’s turn to kick her, and the brothers enjoyed themselves over this little, shared activity.

“Her cunt brother must know o’ this too,” Dalton said, kicking her one last time, Rebecca spewing blood out of her mouth.

“I’ll…” Rebecca said, rasping. “I’ll kill you both…”

Vengeance was a dish best served cold. However, right now, vengeance was starving her. Rebecca had failed. They would kill her brother after they killed her.

“Dalton,” Horace said, grabbing the girl by her blouse. “She’s quite the looker, ain’t she?”

It was then that the men paid close attention to the girl’s features. Up close, she wasn’t thirteen. She had fully formed breasts, and full lips, which were now bloody. Her hair was long, black, and wavy. Her figure was slim but there was some fat near her stomach that could go unnoticed. She had a strange birthmark near the nape of her neck, a birthmark that resembled the horns of a stag. She was not plain, but she wasn’t very pretty either. The men then realized that she could be used.

It was then Rebecca tried once more.

She kicked Dalton in the shin, earning an array of curse words—to which, Horace kicked her stomach, earning a loud scream from her.

“Nope. We’re gon throw ‘er into the ocean and have ‘er be eaten by them sharks.” Horace said, confirming Rebecca’s theory.

At least, she knew that the Ferriers’ weren’t creative.

Riley screamed and begged for them to let her go, but the entire scenario was blurry to Rebecca. She had been kicked way too hard way too many times, her brother’s incessant begging was hazy background noise to her. She was thrown onto something hard and wooden, and she guessed it was a boat. There was no way she could survive this. Her plan went haywire, and she knew now that the next time she saw death was when it would come for her.

What felt like hours later, Rebecca felt a cold splash and darkness.

But, when she waited to be embraced by death, death had abandoned her.

It was then she realized that vengeance was not death, and had grabbed on to her instead.

 

* * *

_August 12, 1888. Illinois._

*****

Arthur felt someone kick his side. Groaning, he noticed Hosea, grinning widely at him.

“What the hell do you want, Hosea?” Arthur grumbled, before turning around and trying to sleep.

“You’ve been this way since that Mary girl left ya. Now, come with me to town. We’ve got some chores to run, boy!” Hosea’s words were not met with any response. “Arthur, how long are you going to mourn over that girl?”

Arthur drew a breath. Mary had a point. She left him because he couldn’t leave for her. But, then, how could he? Dutch and Hosea had saved his life, Dutch and Hosea meant the world to him. But, so did Mary. Turning to Hosea, Arthur sighed once.

“You’re still full of youth, Arthur. Lots of girls left out there that you can pine for.” Hosea laughed before Arthur decided to get out of the bed.

“I ain’t comin’ because o’ what ya said, Hosea. Chores need to be done.” Arthur’s voice was rough, but for a twenty-five-year-old, he already felt like the world was weighing down on him.

Hosea patted his back and waited for Arthur to wash his face. Arthur’s hair was not long, after the trim that he gave himself a few days ago. After the bank heist a year ago, Arthur’s body language had changed. He used to carry himself just as any child would—like how John is now—but things changed after he killed for the first time. It seemed to him that the world didn’t function as nicely, but he didn’t know if it was his own sadness that was talking.

Arthur sat on his horse, a black mare that he had stolen right outside of a town they had robbed from. A second later, the two were riding off into town.

“You’re what? Twenty-five years old, Arthur. You’re definitely going to find someone worthwhile to keep with ya’.”

“Hm.” Arthur didn’t want to think about Mary, but it was inevitable.

Riverside Bay, a town east of Illinois, was a nice place to stock up from. After their successful bank heist a year ago, Dutch and the gang decided to lay low for a while. It was during this time that Arthur and Mary met and fell in love, or so he thought, but she couldn’t be comfortable with his affiliation with the Van Der Linde gang. _At least we ain’t the O’Driscolls_ , Arthur thought, before grunting. While he was barely paying attention, he heard Hosea shout at him.

“Watch it!”

Arthur then realized what he had done. He had trampled over someone with his horse. Immediately jumping off, Arthur grabbed the boy by his shoulders and brought him to a sitting position. Blinking a couple of times, the boy—whose head was bleeding now, looked at Arthur. His eyes widened a bit, before jumping back.

“Whoa there, kiddo. It’s alright. I’m sorry ‘bout runnin’ over ya’ with my horse.” Arthur apologized.

The boy remained quiet. He stood with the help of Arthur and shook his head. He touched the wound on his head and winced, the blood wasn’t a nice thing to see. He felt light headed, but there was no way he’d tell anyone that he was feeling weak.

“How ‘bout I take ya’ to the doctor to get ya’ fixed up?” Arthur offered.

The boy shook his head once more.

“Can you talk, boy?”

The boy looked at Hosea and smiled a bit, before shaking his head. He was a strange looking boy, Hosea thought. Fair skin and bluish green eyes. His hair was neatly trimmed, but the boy looked weak and nimble—almost feminine. And he was dumb too.

“Do you have a place to go, son?” Hosea asked, surprising Arthur.

The boy blinked a couple of times before shaking his head. He made a swooshing gesture with his hands and Hosea laughed.

“Just passin’ through, eh?”

The boy smiled once more. He shut his eye a bit and used his handkerchief to wipe off the blood from his forehead.

“I’m very sorry ‘bout that,” Arthur said, not understanding the interaction.

The boy shook his head once more.

“Do you have a name, boy?”

The boy dug something out from his pocket. It was a slip of paper, almost yellow now, and showed it to the both of them.

“Riley,” Hosea said, patting the boy’s back.

“How about you come with us, Riley? We can fix ya up and give ya somethin’ to eat.” Hosea offered, shocking Arthur.

“Are ya sure this is a good idea, Hosea?” Arthur wasn’t too sure.

“Relax, Arthur, my boy! Here’s Riley, another orphan, in need of help. Make yerself useful and you’ll have a place to stay, my boy.”

Riley blinked a couple of times and was about to protest, something only Arthur noticed, but Hosea was way more pumped on taking this boy over to camp. Why and how useful this would be was something that was beyond Arthur’s comprehension.

“Arthur, ride with Riley.”

Arthur noticed the boy stiffen, but paid not much attention to his discomfort. Riley sat in front of Arthur, being small that he was, it was easier to put him in front. And it was then Arthur saw the weird birthmark on Riley’s neck—a stag horn, or something. Arthur grumbled as he followed Hosea back to camp, sitting with a dumb boy that he almost killed.


	2. Vengeance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riley had a plan. He had to do something.

Arthur had no idea why Riley was brought to camp. Their camp was small, and he would have actually preferred it that way. He saw to it that each person had a role to play—Dutch and Hosea were the backbones, and their backbones were Annabelle and Bessie (who in all honesty, Arthur knew, would want Riley to be a part of the gang because they were nice women and Riley looked malnourished, to say the least). There was Susan Grimshaw, who was one of the safe keepers of the entire camp, she made sure everything stayed in place—however, Arthur felt a tad bit bad for her when he thought of her, considering how she was sweet on Dutch but Dutch had Annabelle now.

There was a butcher too, from the Navy, whose name Arthur kept forgetting. And even if his food was terrible, Arthur knew he had a role to play as well. And then, at last, there was the kid, John Marston. Arthur wouldn’t admit it, but he had a soft spot for the kid. He was feisty, something Morgan appreciated in the boy, but even John looked more aggressive and intimidating than Riley did, and that was saying something. John was just fifteen years old, barely a man.

But, Riley? What role can this gawky little kid play? Arthur grunted. People like him are part of our group now, Arthur thought internally. And Mary… It stung him each time he thought of her, but there was little he could do. He knew he had to move on, he knew that things had changed now—after last year’s robbery, they were officially thieves, leading lives that had a difficult path ahead of them. Each and everyone in the camp had to be careful and ready for any change. Riley didn’t seem to fit that image, in Arthur’s mind.

“Somethin’ on your mind, Arthur?” John’s voice alerted him.

John Marston’s voice had recently undergone a change. Puberty hit him late, something Arthur made fun of him for, but once it had hit him, the growth spurt surely surprised everyone at camp. Especially Dutch. Dutch wanted John to take up arms, something Arthur wasn’t so sure about, but knowing Dutch, he definitely had a plan. And Dutch’s plans always work.

“What do ya think o’ that kid, Riley, eh John?” Arthur asked, looking at Mrs Grimshaw speaking to Riley near Dutch’s camp.

“He looks funny,” John said, smirking. “Maybe he’s as old as me. Thas’ why he’s small o’ somethin’.”

“Hm,” Arthur wasn’t too sure. Something about the kid seemed off. “Maybe, maybe.”

Riley didn’t want to be a part of the group. He had other plans, and even if he was simply passing by, he knew where he had to go. Considering how he held a secret as big as his entire life, being a part of a gang where he could be easily exposed was not one of those plans. Meeting Dutch took the life out of him, almost, Dutch seemed intimidating and every glance that the gang leader gave Riley almost made him believe Dutch had figured him out.

“I’ve figured you out, Riley,” Dutch said, interrupting Susan Grimshaw, a kind lady.

Riley’s eyes almost widened, but he had to maintain his composure. He could feel everybody’s eyes on him.

“You’ve got sad eyes, boy,” Dutch said, smirking. “With a lil’ groomin’, you’re gonna be a great gunslinger. No one would expect you to hold a gun, let alone shoot from one!”

Riley wanted to scream, but there was no way he would let Dutch or anyone know he could talk. If he spoke, they would know his secret, and that was something he would avoid with everything he had. Riley shook his head, uninterested to learn, uninterested to be a part of a gang of thieves, desperate for God knows what reason, to have him be a part of them.

“I believe he ain’t interested in bein’ a part o’ this, Dutch,” Arthur spoke up, suddenly, walking toward them. Riley’s eyes followed the twenty-five-year-old gruff male, before looking back at Dutch.

“Why not?” Dutch asked, folding his hands.

Riley put his hands in the air. There was very little he could do to communicate, but he would try. He reached for the notebook inside his bag, and started to scribbe, surprising both Dutch and Hosea, that he could write.

_I don’t want to be a part of you all. I’ll be a burden. I can use guns for my safety, but I am a lousy thief. Please, excuse me._

Hosea read the words aloud and Dutch sighed. He raised his hands in the air, before groaning.

“Well, I ain’t got time for this. Gotta meet Colm o'Driscoll for some...bank information later tonight.”

Riley’s eyes widened a second later, and time seemingly stopped for him. Quickly, Riley reached for Dutch’s sleeve, with wide eyes, shocking the rest of the gang who were ready to murder Riley if he ever so lay a finger on Dutch. A moment later, they realized, that he simply held the man’s hand.

Riley waited, Dutch stared back.

“o’Driscoll?” He repeated, wondering if this was what stopped Riley.

Riley couldn’t believe it. He knew he had heard the name somewhere, and he knew that if this were a turn of events, Riley was simply lucky. If Dutch knew Colm, then he was one step closer to where he had to be.

He once again began to scribble, before turning things around.

_Please let me be a part of your group. I will sling guns and watch horses and do anything you ask. All I ask for is a favor in return._

“And what’s that, kid?” Hosea asked, now curious.

Riley’s eyes were now cold. He wrote again, albeit, slowly this time.

_I want Colm o’Driscoll’s head._

 

* * *

 

It was a quiet afternoon at the camp. Arthur and John were listening to Dutch read Emerson again, something John found a tad bit boring, but Arthur listening. However, even as Arthur listened to Dutch, he knew the man had something else running in his mind. Something that had happened earlier that morning, which changed everything about the camp or was slowly beginning to.

_“Why? What do you want with Colm o’Driscoll?” Hosea asked, shocked._

_Riley shook his head and refused to write more. Arthur could see the boy’s hands shake, and a frown sit on his face, however, it seemed strangely odd. Judging from the behaviour the boy was displaying, Arthur knew it had something to do with—_

_“Vengeance?” Dutch said out loud, a slow smirk sitting on his lips._

_He didn’t really like Colm all that much but stayed away from ruining things because things would ultimately get bad for the both of them. With Dutch being wanted now, they couldn’t afford to get more on their plate. And the o'Driscoll boys were trouble._

_Riley didn’t nod, but looked down to the ground. His hands clutched the book he was holding and it seemed as if Riley was lot in thought. Arthur felt for the boy a tad bit, but it was sympathy that he needn’t feel in the first place. He could tell the difference—Riley’s death would mean nothing to him; and if his death meant nothing, then even his vengeance meant nothing._

_“Alright, boy. Listen. If you want us to help ya, you’ll have to give us more than wanting Colm o’Driscoll’s head.”_

_Riley looked at Hosea as he said that and began to write again._

**_He’s got a debt he never paid back._ **

_“With you?” Dutch laughed, patting the boy’s shoulder._

_Riley nodded, unblinking. There was something different now about him, Arthur could tell. It was almost as if Riley seemed uncaring to everyone around him. His eyes and body language turned cold, despite him looking like he needed to grow up._

_“He done somethin’ bad to ya, boy?” Arthur asked this time and Riley wrote again._

**_Terrible_ ** _._

_Arthur could tell that this was enough for Dutch. There was an idea looming in the man’s head, his eyes sparkled the same way it sparkled before Dutch wanted to rob that bank a year ago. Something wasn’t right, something is going to awry, Arthur couldn’t put his finger on it, but he trusted Dutch. Dutch would never do something crazy and jeopardize the lives of those in the camp._

_“Don’t get any o’us killed, ya got that?” Arthur said, almost as if he snapped, and walked away._

_What he didn’t see at that second was Riley frowning a tad bit more than he already was._

“Dutch…” Arthur spoke up, suddenly, breaking his reading.

Dutch looked at Arthur and blinked. “Somethin’ wrong, Arthur?”

Arthur sighed, “I don’ get no good feelin’ from that Riley boy.”

Dutch sighed in retaliation, “Listen, Arthur, there’s somethin’ about that kid that I think we can use. It’s making use of potential, son. Don’t you agree, John?”

Dutch was starting to involve John in almost everything now and it didn’t sit easily with Arthur.

“I think he looks funny,” John said, “He looks almost like a girl.”

Arthur chuckled and ruffled the boy’s head, “You’re goin’ blind, Marston.”

John grumbled.

“Listen, Arthur,” Dutch said this time, voice more sullen that the last time, “There’s something about his eyes that spoke to me more than that notebook o’ his,” Arthur didn’t understand. “There’s so much pain in his eyes, son. Almost as if it’s stoppin’ him from living.”

Arthur remembered the last time Dutch had said something similar.

“You’ve got to understand, Arthur. You, of all people, you.” Dutch said.

Dutch had said the same about Arthur himself.

 

* * *

 

Riley got a small run down tent to stay in. He had no horse yet, which meant that he had to buy one, but considering how little money he had, he knew he had to wait. He felt handicapped, but that wouldn’t stop him from knowing he was heading toward where he had to go.

 _Colm o’Driscoll_ , he thought before opening a particular page in his book. There, he had names written in order. The third name was Colm’s and the first two were Horace and Dalton Newcomb. There were a total of seven names, which meant seven times he would have to exact vengeance. Riley then stared at his palm, thinking of the last time it had slipped his fingers. He could have killed Colm that night, but he chose not to. He cursed his mind, he cursed that he felt terrible—Colm had, after all, saved his life, but was instead a menace.

_“I promise ya’ kid. I’ll save yer brother.” Colm had once said._

“False promises,” Rebecca Johansson uttered, closing the book and keeping it back in her bag.

 _All of this_ , she thought as fresh tears filled her eyes. _All of this torture for him_ , she thought, closing her bag and touching her chest. She felt the bruises. And, the tightness of the bandages suddenly made her breathless. _To hide who I am_ , she thought before running her fingers across the rim of the bandage. She had tied it around her torso to push back her breasts, from people not figuring out that she was a woman.

Being a woman in a time like this was difficult. She would end up as Mrs Grimshaw, nice and kind and lovely, but Mrs Grimshaw wouldn’t be allowed to exact vengeance. She would ask someone else, and Rebecca had no mind for that. She wanted to control death, which she understood abandoned her when she needed it—instead, she made a pact with vengeance for something no one else but her can do. If she had to hide her identity, then so be it.

She would kill Colm o’Driscoll and then she would kill Horace and Dalton.

She would kill them all for slaughtering her parents and murdering her brother.

 _I’m sorry I took your name, baby brother_ , she thought, wiping the tears away. _But, I will not let your death be in vain. You died for me that night, and I will end those responsible._

Rebecca Johansson was barely alive. Vengeance kept her breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Do let me know what you all think! :)


	3. Ain't No Foolin' John Marston

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Marston ain't no stupid hillbilly.

Rebecca woke up, just before day break, and panicked. She looked around inside her tent, and breathed slowly before realizing that she was actually panting. Her hair was a mess—and she was glad she had cut it to a boy’s regular messy cut, but she wasn’t wearing her bandages. Without her bandages, her breasts would pop out. She wasn’t too big, but big enough to alert the people around her that she wasn’t a boy but a boy in disguise. Without question, she quickly took her shirt off and began to tie the bandages around her chest, tightly. Each time, she felt she tied a bit tighter—forever compressing her chest to one without breasts. 

She hated that she had to do this; she hated living in disguise. She would normally love scents and everything that came with being a woman in that age, but now—now things were different and unforgiving. Her long hair, which she had adored once before, was trimmed away, and her cheeks were rough and scaly, what used to be soft and smooth. She missed being a woman, but now she had no choice.

After tying the bandages around her, she put her shirt back on. Through the tiny holes in her bottle green tent, she observed that it was breaking day. She had a tiny mirror using which she fixed her hair—and turned into a boy again.

Through Dutch Van der Linde, she would find Colm o’Driscoll, and through Colm she would find a slight bit of redemption. Colm was someone she would take vengeance for herself. He had nothing to do with her brother, but had done something terrible to her. Words and lies were carved carefully to sting her in such a fashion that the sting would never heal, and what remained was a ghost of a person with an inability to move on from the pain that was caused. She had a plan, and no sympathy and no compassion came close to bringing her down from what she saw needed to be done.

“Riley!” She heard Susan Grimshaw’s voice call from outside. Her heart sometimes ached when she heard her brother’s name, but she was her brother now. “Come out here and gimme a hand, boy.” She didn’t sound mean, she sounded nice as a matter of fact.

Riley stepped out of the small tent, looking timid. He blinked a couple of times and noticed Mrs. Grimshaw smiling at him. The smile reminded him of his own mother’s, but Riley tried not to think of anything regarding his past (her past). 

“The horses need feedin’, boy. Here,” Susan motioned toward the stack of hay. “Take this to them horses over there. Make yerself useful here and you’ll belong quite alright.” Susan smiled and Riley nodded.

“My,” Susan sighed and said softly. “I sometimes forget ya can’t talk. Poor soul.” 

The only reason Rebecca chose to leave Riley dumb was because her voice was far too feminine to hide. Rebecca was always told that she had a beautiful voice when she sang, but it sounded too much like a woman for a man. 

While Riley was moving one haystack after another toward the horses, he observed that there were eyes on him. He paused for a second and noticed a boy watching his every move—unashamedly, not looking away even after Riley caught him doing so. The boy’s name, he could recall, was John Marston. He was around fifteen years of age, and far too aggressive for his own good. Riley watched him staring at him for a brief while before tilting his head a bit and getting back to work. It had been close to a few days since Riley joined the Van der Linde gang, and while even Arthur stayed out of insulting the boy, Riley noticed John’s hesitance in talking to him.

“Give him some time,” Hosea had said, when he first observed this behavior. “The boy’s got a nasty past.” 

_Nasty past,_ Rebecca thought before piling the hay carefully in the stack where it was supposed to go. _I understand nasty pasts_. 

A moment later, Hosea approached Riley and grabbed the boy’s arm. Riley’s face turned pink—Rebecca, still not used to being touched so freely by a man twice her age, tried hard not to show any signs of discomfort. 

“Need to talk to ya, son.” Hosea’s tone scared Riley. Instantly, he knew that it was something related to the confession he had made about the o’Driscolls. 

Riley blinked at Hosea, while being led inside the white tent. Arthur was standing by the entrance, no expression on his face. Arthur noticed Riley and gave him a small nod, _I think he understands that I’m a member here now_ , Rebecca told herself. _He hated me before_ , she thought before blinking a couple of times. Arthur grunted once before straightening his posture. Dutch was entering the tent. 

“So, son,” Dutch said before continuing, “You hate Colm,”

Riley didn’t nod. He didn’t hate Colm, it wasn’t hate. It was hard to explain without telling them some part of the story, and that was what he didn’t want to share.

“And you want him dead.” Dutch stated facts.

Riley blinked.

“The thing is, we don’t like him all that much either,” Hosea said, in a calculative manner. 

“We’re teamed up wit’ em right now,” Arthur said, sighing. “Dutch and Colm had a… what ya call, a ‘partnership’ o’ sorts.”

Riley didn’t understand. He made a face, which conveyed his exact emotions.

“See Colm’s got a brother, Wyatt.” 

Rebecca’s blood boiled.  _ Oh, I know Wyatt o’Driscoll damn well, _ she thought before frowning. Hosea noticed the sudden change in Riley’s face, but chose not to comment on it. There were some stories each of them carried, with no want or need to divulge them. What he wanted to comment on was the fact that Riley’s wish to murder Colm intersected with their own wish to end their partnership. 

“Wyatt’s got his eyes set on Dutch,” Hosea said, sighing bitterly. “Wyatt is plannin’ on handing Dutch over to the authorities for the bounty.” 

“Let him try! I can rip his skull off his neck and still make him see the end of it.” Dutch said, sarcastically, with a weird grin on his face.

What Riley didn’t understand was why they were telling him this. He knew that Dutch didn’t like Colm, and he knew that they felt the same way about all of the o’Driscolls, so why were they telling him this plan?

“We kill Wyatt first.” Dutch said.

Rebecca’s heart picked up pace. Wyatt was fourth in her list, ending his life meant getting closer to Colm. She nodded once before taking her notebook once.

_ Wyatt has this horse he loves. We get to his horse and we get to him. He’s a dumbass with very little that he cares about.  _

Hosea laughed as he read out Riley’s note. “This is why we needed you, boy! Somethin’ tells me you’ve been on the insides of the o’Driscolls’ party!”

_ It’s the other way around, Hosea _ , Rebecca thought bitterly, forcefully blinking tears away. Arthur watched the boy, before noticing the sun fall on the boy’s shirt. There was a dark patch in his chest, which looked almost made up. It was like he was wearing another shirt inside the one that he could see. Arthur blinked before clearing his throat and looking away, it wasn’t his business. 

“Alright. We get to his horse. Can you identify his horse, boy?” 

Riley nodded.

“Dutch,” Arthur said, before looking at Riley. “How can we know we can trust ‘im?” 

Riley’s heart dropped. This was one question that he was hoping no one would ask. It was a good question, he had to admit, because how can anyone be sure that Riley himself wasn’t an o’Driscoll?

“Actually, that’s a great point. What if Colm sent you here and if this is all a set up?” Dutch spoke out loud.

Riley’s eyes filled with tears. He wrote in his notebook.

_ I had a sister. Colm and his brother raped her every night after saving her life one day. They raped her and ruined her life. She is no woman no more. I’m doing this for her. And I’m doing this for myself. _

_I’m doing this for you, brother._ Rebecca’s voice was for herself only. 

“I.. I’m sorry to hear that, son.” Dutch said, sympathetically. 

Hosea patted the boy’s shoulder before saying, “You don’t have to say anything more than that, Riley.” 

Arthur, on the other hand, was the most shocked. He didn’t once think Riley could have gone through so much. After having cared for Mary so much, he understood so much about how hard women had it for themselves. Their torture would always, always exceed the pain that anyone can give to a man. Women were strong, and hurting them came easy. 

Rape, Arthur thought, was unforgivable. 

He watched Riley get back to his chores, sad face and sadder eyes, and a soft spot bore in his heart for the boy.  _ To lose a sister the way he had, must have taken more than just anger for him to come huntin’ after them o’Driscolls _ , Arthur thought.

 

* * *

 

  
That evening, Riley sat alone by the fire. He was thinking about what he had shared with Hosea, Dutch and Arthur, and he wondered if it was the right thing to have done.  _ They wouldn’t have trusted me _ , Rebecca thought.  _ Arthur is suspicious of anyone new _ , she sighed. A moment later, she felt someone sit beside her.

It was John. He had a scowl on his face, and his hair was a mess. From the past few days, she’s noticed that John was what they’d call, ‘a problem child’. He was naughty and barely did any chore around the camp. Susan would have to scream at him repeatedly to have him eat.

“I know yer a girl.” John said, glaring at Riley.

Her blood froze. Rebecca suddenly felt very exposed, but this was a fifteen year old child and this old jibe was thrown off the window by Arthur the first time it had happened. Riley turned to look at John and glared back, trying hard to keep the glare on and not let the fear show.

“You’ve got breasts, and you ain’t got no weener.” John said, softly but assertively.

Riley shook his head and turned away, red faced—but in front of the fire, one couldn’t tell. She hoped John wouldn’t be able to hear her rapidly beating heart.

“They might think I’m some stupid hillbilly,” John said, “But I ain’t gonna ever call a woman a man.” 

Riley took out his notebook and hoped John could read.

_ Go away, John. I don’t have to prove shit to you. _

“Alright, _ma’am_. I know no one ain’t gonna believe me, but I know your secret. Riley or if that’s what your name is. You ain’t a man. Yer a lady. A lady dressed like a hillbilly. Don’t know why an’ I don’t care. But you ain’t foolin’ me.” John said, before getting up and walking away.

Riley waited for a moment. He hoped no one heard this conversation, and he hoped no one cared for John’s words. Because of the way he behaves, no one took him seriously. However, John’s hunch, if it was a hunch, was right. Riley was no man.

Rebecca was scared for her life now. 


	4. The Wild West is Filled With Bastards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riley helps John, and he regrets it all.

John was slowly making life difficult for her. Rebecca knew that John knew, and even if his words weren’t taken seriously, there was not another soul out there in the world who knew Rebecca was still alive and was disguising herself a woman. John would pass dirty glares at her as she did her regular chores as Riley, forcing Mrs. Grimshaw to smack him a couple of times for slacking off. Sure, Rebecca felt bad for the boy—frustrated that no one took his words seriously, and having everyone believe he was spewing nonsense. But, what if someone one day listened to him? What if they get to know that she’s a scrawny little woman who’s after something women shouldn’t be after?

Chills went down her spine each time she thought of such an aftermath. She would have to do something about John, she knew. She would have to worry and think of a plan that can perhaps convince John that she was a man. _I can’t convince him, I can’t show him a penis that ain’t there_ , she thought, frowning to herself as she stacked the pile of hay in front of Dutch’s horse. She was slowly rising into panic, and Rebecca knew it was only about time before John loses it and yells that she’s a woman.

However, before any of that could happen, Hosea had a request. Hosea’s request made Rebecca want to almost leave the group, but considering how Dutch insisted as well, she knew she had no other choice.

“Take John wit’ ya. He’s slackin’ off most of the time, and there ain’t much out here that he can do. Buyin’ groceries and medicine might do ‘im some good.” Hosea’s kind voice and kind smile made Rebecca feel bad that she was lying to him.

“I ain’t goin’ with _her_!” John protested, visibly looking livid.

Rebecca felt her insides do a flip. Her gaze turned to Arthur, who chuckled once before slapping the boy’s back.

“You still on with this nonsense, Marston?” Arthur asked.

“It ain’t nonsense, Arthur! Like ya’ll ever believe me. Ask ‘er! Ask ‘er to show ya’ll her penis—”

Another smack.

“That’s enough from you, Marston.” Arthur sighed.

Rebecca was perhaps the only one who was possibly shitting her pants. However, going to town with the boy might change things. To either good (which, she highly doubted) or bad, which was possibly the case.

“Take Arthur’s horse for now. But here,” Hosea came forward and gave Rebecca some money. “Buy yerself a new one. You’ll need it—”

Rebecca’s eyes widened and she shook her head, before returning the money. She pressed her lips together before pulling out her small notebook.

_I don’t want to buy a horse. “Buying” sounds wrong. It’s life._

Rebecca blushed before showing it to the man, who chuckled a couple of times.

“Well, then. Let’s hope someone gives one to ya fer free, then.” Hosea joked before turning away.

Arthur didn’t catch hold of the note. John’s words stuck on, but he knew the boy wasn’t being serious. But, to let a joke continue on for so long? Arthur frowned before eyeing Riley from top to bottom, finding no hint of him being a woman like John says so. The baggy shirt that he was wearing was messy, but there was no sign of womanhood on the boy. Sure, he looked ragged and scrawny but he had seen his fair share of scrawny boys. The wild west wasn’t really a place where all boys grew to be men.

He shrugged his thoughts away before minding his own business. If it was anything, then it was Riley’s problem to deal with. Not his.

* * *

“I hate bein’ paired with you.” John said, frowning.

Because Rebecca had chosen not to take Dutch’s horse, they had taken the carriage instead. John sat beside her, not really wanting to, but there was only so much he could do. Sure, he put up a fight when it came to actually cooperating with her, but Rebecca knew he wouldn’t so much as to raise his voice or disobey Hosea or Dutch. They had raised him, after all.

“You ain’t foolin’ no one, _lady_.” John said, hoping to instigate some reaction out of Rebecca.

She didn’t budge. She kept her gaze straight and her eyes didn’t waver. If only John didn’t pose too much of a threat, she’d have smacked him on the head, herself.

“I don’t get what yer tryin’ ta prove.”

_You’ll never understand, either way,_ she thought before maintaining her composure. She licked her lips once before catching a glimpse of a small town in the front—Fogmount. Tiny, but sufficient. She had the list that Mrs. Grimshaw had given, and she hoped John wouldn’t run off.

She looked at the boy who shot her the meanest glare a 15 year old can conjure, and turned away from him.

“I ain’t runnin’, don’t get yer panties twisted in a bunch.”

_Oh, I really wanna hit him now_ , she thought before frowning. After stopping the carriage near the entrance, she gestured for John to follow. The boy grunted before choosing not to say anything more. The two of them walked inside town, earning a few looks from the locals—for not having seen them before.

This kind of attention sometimes doesn’t sit well with a lot of people. To the naked eye, Rebecca and John, who went by Riley and John, seemed harmless and almost invisible. But, to a crowd that wanted trouble, they seemed like targets. Rebecca caught sight of a nasty crowd of men, standing aside and drinking in public, which was quite odd since there was a saloon not too far from where they stood. The men seemed like the type to hit on women that passed them by, making people uncomfortable was what sat well with these folk. However, what pissed Rebecca even more was the fact that they choose to drink and cause a fuss in the middle of the day, when no one really expected shit like this to go down.

Rebecca’s hand flew to John’s wrist, which John only shrugged violently before spitting on the ground in haste.

“I don’t need yer help, lady!” John was a bit too loud, causing Rebecca’s eyes widen and the other bunch of men to listen.

“You need ta’ stay the hell away from me!”

Rebecca tried once more to pull John away, now noticing the men approaching them, laughing and chortling on their own. John once again pulled back, now stepping back in retaliation, before his back collided with one of the men. There were three in total, but was enough to cause a distraction. Rebecca really didn’t need this right now.

John gasped before the man grabbed his collar from the back, and yanked him aside, forcing John to stand straight and put an arm over his shoulder.

“Ya heard the little man, _lady_ ,” the man mimicked John’s insult. “Leave ‘im alone.”

The men behind him laughed, but John wasn’t. A sudden rush of adrenaline hit the boy, and Rebecca had hoped that the situation wouldn’t escalate. Another man approached Rebecca before grabbing her collar.

“Why’s a mangy mutt like yerself in _our_ town?”

“Yeah, never seen ‘em before too.” Another one joined in.

John struggled, in the meanwhile, knowing Rebecca couldn’t talk back. However, when Rebecca didn’t reply, the man holding her collar, punched her squarely in the face. John froze before seeing Rebecca fall to the ground, blood coming out of her mouth. If there was any bit of anger that was in him, it went away as he watched her get back up and plead for John to be released.

“Ya can’t talk or somethin’?” The man who punched her mocked.

“Get away from ‘im, you bastards!” John screamed, before kicking the man’s foot, and running to Rebecca.

“Let’s get outa’ here, Riley.” John sounded scared, but he didn’t want to seem like it.

However, that wasn’t the three men’s plan. One of them grabbed John again, but before John felt the punch come, Rebecca had kicked the man’s shin and pushed him to the ground. Before a second thought, her fist went flying to the man who punched her, and hit him squarely below the jawline, shocking him, and using her other hand to hit him again, knocking him to the ground.

The third man who had held John, rushed forward, but Rebecca was too quick. She went behind the man and grabbed his hand before twisting it uncharacteristically, and kicking him behind the knee, knocking him down. She used her right hand and hit him hard on the nape of his neck, knocking him down as well.

She then turned, grabbed John’s hand and rushed back to the carriage. She knew now was her chance, and feeling terrible about not getting Mrs. Grimshaw’s things, Rebecca sat John down beside her and raced back to the camp. John, not having said a word the whole while, didn’t know what to say. He looked at Rebecca’s bleeding mouth and nose, bruised face, discolored and ugly from the punch that sent her to the ground, and turned away with shame. It was his fault. This had happened because he failed to cooperate.

There were always going to be terrible goons in the world. And he was saved by someone he had teased constantly for being a woman. John wouldn’t admit it, he had seen the bandages inside her tent one night, but had never told anyone. Perhaps, for saving his life that day, he wouldn’t.

He wouldn’t apologize to Riley. He just wouldn’t aggravate the situation as he had earlier. It was not his call to make, whether Riley was a woman or not. Even if she was a woman, she had saved his life, knocking three men twice her size to the ground. And if he had any self-respect, which John believed he had, he would not make her anymore uncomfortable than he already had.

When the two of them reached the tent empty handed, Mrs. Grimshaw wanted to yell. But, once her eyes fell on Riley’s bruised and bloody face and John having been untouched, she knew what had happened. Riley gave her a helpless smile, a smile that hurt him as he stretched his lip, Mrs. Grimshaw shushed him.

“John, be grateful.” Was all she said, before grabbing Riley’s scrawny wrist and leading him away to mend him.

Dutch and Hosea noticed Riley’s face and scolded John, demanding him to tell them both what had happened. John was quiet, and it was only after Arthur came and placed a comforting shoulder on the younger boy did John even begin to speak. Tears pooled in his eyes, but he dared not to let them fall.

“Riley helped me. There were these bastards,” John sniffed before continuing, “Drunk all of ‘em. He beat ‘em to the ground. He saved me from bein’ beaten too.” Arthur was probably the only one who noticed John had changed the pronoun he used for Riley.

His hands were clenched and John hated the position he was in.

“No girl coulda done that,” Dutch said, laughing.

Arthur noticed John’s expression. John wasn’t just feeling helpless, the boy was feeling regret. _Regret for being bullied? Nah,_ Arthur thought before heading out of Dutch’s tent and looking at Mrs. Grimshaw mend Riley. He didn’t believe John’s words before, he knew that for sure. There was no reason for a woman to dress up like a man and go around asking to kill Colm o’Driscoll. If there was something, then there was something more than what Arthur could figure out on his own.

It was not his problem, he told himself in the end and let it go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the late update! Hope ya'll liked this chapter! Do let me know :)


	5. Taming Wild Horses, Taming Wild Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was one of the worst periods of her life. Quite literally.

Rebecca woke up to the sight of blood. It was an every month occurrence, but she was always unprepared, each time. She hoped and prayed she hadn’t stained into her pants, and a sigh of relief escaped her lips when she spotted that they were fine. However, the smell of blood washed over them, something she could hide by grabbing a few herbs on her way out.

It was still dark out, Rebecca was glad; she quickly grabbed the cheesecloth pouch from inside her bag and stuffed it with cotton. She shoved it onto her panty, and cushioned herself. A wave of nausea hit her from the smell, and she was sure that after everyone had slept that following night, she would definitely jump into the river and give herself a bath. Rebecca had cramp pains but she could brush it off as being moody; the best part was how she made everyone believe she couldn’t talk. This saved her the excuse of having to explain or deliver any sort of communication with anyone. She quickly tied the bandages around her chest and held a deep breath as she made the final knots. She was ready for the day.

Everyone had been way too easy on her ever since the two of them returned after the incident. John, on the other hand, barely paid her any attention. He’d address her as ‘him’ and ‘he’ now—an unspoken truce was called for. Rebecca understood this as some sort of positive sign, even though John glared at her like he wanted her to drop dead.

Arthur on the other hand, had been way too talkative with her the past few days. It had been close to a week since John and Rebecca came back after the incident, and ever since then, Arthur volunteered to go anywhere with Rebecca and greeted her every time he saw her. She didn’t see this as a sign of infatuation, she didn’t take Arthur to be one who was attracted to the same sex (not that there was anything wrong with it in her mind); however, it seemed almost _cautious_.

Arthur interacting with her this openly only gave her a few words that he may or may not want her to understand: _I don’t trust you_ , his actions screamed.

She walked out of her tent that morning to spot Arthur near the coffee pot. After washing her face and mouth with water, Rebecca headed over there for some coffee. She knew that the more she avoided him, especially when “nothing was out of the ordinary”, the more Arthur would get suspicious. She had to play it cool and act like nothing was different. She knew Arthur didn’t trust her, but the more clueless she would act, she hoped he would get more lenient with her.

However, both of them knew something was off, even if they didn’t admit it to one another.

“Mornin’ Riley.” Arthur greeted her, in a straight tone.

Rebecca nodded once before setting herself down a few feet away from Arthur, and poured herself some coffee.

“Ya know,” Arthur began. “I always found it strange that John never took a likin’ to ya. He’s a friendly boy.”

Rebecca didn’t move a muscle. She turned to Arthur and observed his features. He looked young, but there was something undeniably sad about the way he carried himself. His dirty brown hair was strangely always neat, and he had a hidden sort of melancholy in his eyes. Rebecca almost got lost in starting at him, before he waved at her and grabbed her attention all over again.

“Somethin’ wrong, boy?” Arthur made sure to add ‘boy’ in the end. She could tell.

Rebecca shook her head before taking a sip of her coffee. The sun was out, but it was still way too early in the day. Her heart was almost at her throat and her mind was slowly starting to go blank. Arthur Morgan seemed to confuse the hell out of her, and he seemed to enjoy doing so.

“Mind tellin’ me what you thinkin’?” Arthur asked again, pressing her against a corner.

 _Doesn’t he know I can’t talk?_ Rebecca thought before sipping her coffee quietly. Her heart was raging against her chest, her feet were itching to start shaking out of nervousness, and her forehead was already drenched with sweat. She was good at keeping secrets, and Arthur was just as good in digging them out.

She then heard a sigh. She turned to see Arthur look her in the eye before getting up and walking away. Her stomach dropped with the thought of the look he gave her before he left, a look that perhaps hinted that he knew more than he was letting out on, a look that scared her more than John’s accusation. Arthur Morgan was no boy, he was a man whose words could be counted upon. Yet, here was no open declaration of her being a liar. There was no denial of her gender or her apparent secrecy.

Arthur Morgan was not even pressing her for answers, yet, this sort of hesitance in his nature of wanting to understand her, scared her. It made her uncomfortable to think that perhaps, Arthur Morgan knew she was a woman and chose to keep it a secret.

And since there was no reason why he would do so, or that she couldn’t think of any, the benefit of the doubt only fell on the fact that perhaps, Arthur Morgan, outlaw and self-proclaimed bad man, kept her secret because of the goodness of his heart. He did not understand her plight and chose not to dwell.

 _No_ , she thought before finishing her coffee. _I’m overthinking._

 

* * *

 

“There’s a job in town,” Hosea began that noon. “We do this and we pack up. More people have caught our attention at town and it ain’t a good thing to stay and anger ‘em more.”

Rebecca looked down, before checking John’s reaction. The boy’s face was red with anger, but not at something external.

“Don’t worry, Riley, it ain’t yer doin’.” Dutch said, laughing. Rebecca blushed.

“What’s the job?” Arthur asked, smoking a cigarette.

“There’s this man, Donald Briggsman. He’s loaded, and apparently he’s goin’ around tellin’ the whole town that there’s a group o’ no good criminals waitin’ to rob 'em all. The only part that ain’t true of his story is that we ain’t gonna rob the town but him and _only_ him.” Dutch said, with a determined look on his face.

“Turns out he’s good friends with Colm too,” Hosea said now looking at Rebecca. “We anger him then we anger Colm, before he comes marchin’ right at us and demandin’ an explanation.”

Rebecca’s heart jumped. _Too many things to digest_ , she thought before gulping.

“So what we do is this,” Hosea began once again. “Riley and Arthur’ll go to town this time and speak to the general shop owner there. Arthur’s gonna do the talkin’, while I want Riley to sneak in and get whatever you can get yer hands on that could be valuable. Make it as distinct as ya can. A day later, I’ll go in and deliver it to the general store owner, admitting to there bein’ a criminal group that ain’t no good.”

Rebecca understood the plot. It was basic, but it  _could_ work if it was executed well enough. Hosea will slowly slip out of being suspected for being part of the group, while the attention would fall on Riley and Arthur instead.

“And accordin’ to heresay, Donald’s eldest daughter’s birthday is in a week’s time. Only a select few are gonna be invited to this so here’s hopin’ that returning and being acquitted can have me invited!” Hosea laughed.

 _This plan can go wrong in so many ways_ , Rebecca thought, but chose not to say anything.

“And that’s the day we strike,” Dutch said, “It’s the day they least expect us to do anythin’. We’re gon’ rob ‘em, and we’re runnin’ away.”

“Where are we goin’?” Arthur asked, not sounding too intrigued.

“I know a place,” Dutch said, with a glint in his eye. “Don’t worry, Arthur. I’ve got a plan.”

And Arthur believed him.

“Riley, yer gonna need a horse, son.” Hosea said, seriously this time.

Rebecca nodded before pulling out her notebook. **_I’ll tame one today!_**

“Tame one?” Hosea asked, cocking an eyebrow at the young boy. Arthur chuckled before shaking his head and walking off.

“You have big dreams for them small hands, son,” Dutch said, laughing before patting Arthur on the back. “Arthur, go with him and make sure he don't die by the time ya’ll have to go to the general store.”

Arthur didn’t want to, but was curious to see how Riley would ‘tame’ a horse. Wild horses were not easy to tame, they’d trample over anyone who came close. Even Arthur couldn’t tame a wild horse, it was almost ten times easier to simply buy one. Then again, Arthur rolled his eyes as he thought of this, Riley here ain’t one of them snot-nosed shirley fuckers who buys whatever and whatnot.

Fifteen minutes later, just after lunch, Riley sat behind Arthur on his horse as they rode off to the forest. Hosea told Arthur that Riley was talking about the area behind their camp, just half a mile into the dense woods. Arthur sighed and decided not to get anywhere close, while Riley gets almost trampled. Arthur promised he’d intervene when he believed the boy will die if he doesn’t.

“You have a thing ‘bout not buyin’ horses, boy?”

Rebecca struggled to write as the horse was running. Everything was a pain at the moment. Riding the horse while she was on her period, having to quietly take in the cramp pain while not even letting a soul know about what she was going through. Rebecca’s stomach tossed and turned with every step the horse was taking, but she knew she couldn’t even let out a quiet moan of pain. After writing her reply, she leaned forward and showed Arthur what she had written by merely extending her hands forward.

Arthur’s eyes caught sight of what she had written as a response, **_Would you buy a baby?_**

He laughed once before shaking his head. “Aight, but if you die, it ain’t on me.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes and bit her lower lip to swallow a moan. She felt gas well up in her stomach and the urgent need to pass wind hit her face. A wave of nausea hit her once more, before subconsciously gripping Arthur’s shirt from the back. Arthur swore he felt a child’s grip on his back, before turning around silently, catching a glimpse of the boy from the corner of his eye. It seemed like Riley was in a silent sort of pain, and the sight made Arthur slow his horse down a bit.

“Let’s walk from ‘ere.” He said, before getting off.

It took Rebecca a couple of seconds before getting off the horse, making sure not to displace her cheesecloth.

“Ya aight there, Riley?” Arthur asked, making sure not to touch him.

Rebecca nodded before leading him to where she knew the horses were. She had seen them the last time she had come out for a night’s walk, something she didn’t do often. Arthur followed closely behind, spotting something on her that he chose not to disclose. It was not his business until it became so. And until then, he’d keep mum.

A few feet away, both of them saw it. A herd of horses, magnificent and free. A wide range of colors among them—brown, black, while and a couple spotted ones, with wild manes flowing above their heads. Arthur was in awe of such beasts, roaming on their own, carefree and delighted under the sun’s light, understanding slightly why Riley chose not to buy them. _You can’t buy such freedom,_ his mind told him. Look at them, he gasped mentally as the horses rode by themselves, with no one to guide their nature.

Rebecca let out a low whistle. While Arthur knew dumb people could whistle, he was still shocked; though, he wouldn’t let Riley know. He watched as the petite boy approached a wild horse that was slightly away from the herd. The horse was mainly white but with a brown mane, a few black spots near the hide. It was a large beast, larger than Riley was for sure, and Arthur thought the horse would merely kick the boy for even trying to go near it.

“Riley, I don’t think—”

Arthur wanted to stop him, but there was something about the way Riley moved that let Arthur know that the petite boy knew what he was doing.

Riley’s arm was extended forward, and a soft whistling followed. It was a tune that Arthur swore he had heard long ago. Riley’s extended hand now came closer to the earth, and this caught the horse’s attention. The horse froze on its spot, staring at Riley who was a few feet away. Riley’s hand slowly reached out once more, but the boy stopped. It was now the horse’s turn. Almost as if it were magic, the white horse approached Riley, sniffing his hand that was extended. Arthur’s heartbeat was matching the sound of drums in his ear. He could not believe his eyes.

The horse smelled Riley’s hand for a full minute, before Riley’s fingers reached and touched the horse’s snout. Slowly, the boy took a step forward and his hand, which was in contact with the horse’s snout, pet the horse’s head now, reaching for its mane, straddling his head and cooing at it with his whistles. Without a second thought, Riley’s other hand reached forward and began petting the horse’s face, with the horse fully comfortable in Riley’s grasp.

The whistling intensified now, and Riley placed his forehead to the horse’s snout, causing Arthur to double take everything he had ever thought of the boy in front of him. _He ain’t weak_ , Arthur thought almost apologetically. _I guess there’s a lot of difference between bein’ gentle and weak_ , he thought, adorning a smile on his face.

Rebecca turned back to Arthur and found him smiling. Rebecca smiled back, still petting her new horse. Arthur chuckled once before shaking his head.

 

* * *

 

There was no reason needed for a celebration at camp, Rebecca understood. Rebecca chose to call her horse Luna, like the moon. However, she had not told a soul her horse’s name yet. Dutch and the others were busy drinking and partying, which gave Rebecca all the more reason to sneak out and take a bath. She felt sticky and smelly due to her period, which made it all the more difficult for her to want to mingle with the rest of them.

Hitching Luna to her new post, Rebecca pet her horse one last time before heading to her tent as quietly as she could. She grabbed a few more clothes, a new cheesecloth, some cotton, and a larger cloth that she could use to wrap herself with. She had to make sure that she threw away the old cheesecloth, before heading into town and buying more. Unlike the other women she knew, like her mother, Rebecca chose to throw away used cheesecloths instead of reusing them.

It was only half a moon that night. Almost 200 yards away was the stream, and she was sure that no one would ever wonder where she was that night. Hosea and Dutch were already out of it, naming Rebecca’s horse skills as the reason for them to let loose. Mrs. Grimshaw and Annabelle were laughing along, drunk as well. Arthur was teasing John who begged to get something to drink as well, only to end up not liking the taste of the bitter liquid. Rebecca smiled when she thought of John, he might be rough around the edges but he was a good kid.

She stripped so fast it seemed natural. Naked to the skin, Rebecca sunk herself into the cold water, letting her nether regions rejoice with the feeling of freshness that the water induced. Shutting her eyes, she leaned back against the rock behind her and used her hands to wash herself everywhere. She missed this feeling—where she could embrace her womanhood. Her body was now how it was meant to be, not hiding the curves of her body or her breasts felt natural to her.

She felt like a part of her soul was missing when her hands touched the edges of her hair, trimmed short like a boy’s head. She remembered back when she used to have longer hair, softer skin and a bandage free chest.

“I’ve missed this…” She whispered, speaking for what felt like the first time in years.

Tears filled her eyes when she thought of what she was doing and why. She missed her brother, she missed her parents, having lost them so abruptly at a young age. She missed herself, in hindsight, wondering why she had to hide—coping with the fear that the o’Driscolls might catch her anytime.

_If I find you, I’m gonna kill ya so bad, Becca, yer gonna wish ya was never born._

Colm’s voice rang in her ears, and tears flowed down her cheeks. A moment later however, time came to a standstill. She heard the rustling of the bushes, and she knew right then and there that it wasn’t an animal. Her heart was beating way too loudly, and she was sure that the sound by itself would be a giveaway to the person who was approaching where she was. She knew she was caught now, she knew that her time in the camp with Dutch and the others was done. She could tame wild horses within a snap of a finger but right then, taming her wild heart took half her life away.

She waited. She waited and hoped in her heart that perhaps it was John who came, and the boy wouldn’t need too much of an explanation.

“Riley…?”

Arthur’s voice alerted her to his position. Arthur stood by the bark of a tree, by which she had shed her clothes and her used cheesecloth. Embarrassment flooded through her veins, for having him see her at her worst. Arthur’s eyes landed on the bloodied cloth and then back at the woman in the water.

 _Fucking hell_ , Arthur thought, his eyes slowly widened. _John was right._

Perhaps, he needed to have more faith not in Dutch’s words but in John’s. 


	6. Once a Fool...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur knows he's a fool, but he now knows how big of one he always was.

“Riley…? Or.. Or is that even yer name?” Arthur’s voice was still low.

She expected shouting. She expected him to scream at her and bring the others and shame her for what she had done. She had lied to him, she had lied to everyone in the camp, and now they had no reason to trust her.

“Arthur…” She whispered, but he heard her.

“Oh, so you can talk too!” His voice was a tad bit louder than before, but still can’t be considered shouting.

Tears spilled out of her eyes and her heart was barraging against her chest. She was scared, but she hoped and prayed that he would listen to her. He wasn’t aggressive like the rest, Arthur listened and that was perhaps one of the best things about him, among many.

“What is _this_?” He asked, staring at her form in the water.

As if now realizing she was a woman, Arthur turned away, rubbing his mouth with the palm of his hand. He was confused, this was certain, but he had never seen Riley with such fear in his eyes before. Her eyes, he reminded himself. He was sweating all over his face, his back and he could feel the sweat on his ankles, even. He remembered the bloodied cloth, and understood her reason to come for a bath—having understood that he had come at a time when she wanted most to be alone.

However, he did not feel regret. He had been lied to, there was anger in him that was raging to be let out. Moreover, the safety of the gang was in question and this was something Arthur couldn’t let slide.

But, when he recalled her face when he had discovered her at her most vulnerable moment, Arthur swore he felt his heart break. She looked scared, like a cornered fawn, accepting completely that its time was up.

Arthur was definitely going to let his camp know about Riley’s truth, but first, he didn’t want to admit that it all depended on the weight of her story.

With Arthur turning around the way he was, Rebecca quickly rushed to her clothes and recreated a new cheesecloth for herself. She was embarrassed and was scared Arthur might turn around, but for some reason, she had faith that he wouldn’t. The tears, they kept coming, but she knew she owed him an explanation now. Once she was decent, she felt her voice scream from inside her.

“Arthur…” Her voice was feeble, a bit louder than before, and Arthur turned around.

“Yer a woman.” He stated, for the fact that it was.

“I…” She didn’t know what to say. More than anything, she didn’t know where to begin.

“And ya can talk too. Tell me,” Arthur frowned darkly before adding, “What else have ya been keepin’ a secret? Yer a spy too? All that shit about the o’Driscolls, that a lie—”  
  
“No! I hate Colm o’Driscoll with my life and I intend on killin’ him or watchin’ him die, I swear this to you!” Rebecca snapped, her voice breaking in the middle for not having spoken so much in such a long time.

Arthur couldn’t believe it. Here was someone he thought was a scrawny little boy, too weak to be a man, sounding almost like a woman with a soft voice. He looked into her eyes and saw fury.

He waited.

“Arthur, I… I know you’ve got no reason to trust me, but I need you to keep this a secret. Please. Please for the sake of my life—”

“I don’t know you, _ma’am_.” Arthur said, coldly.

Rebecca froze. She licked her lips and felt how dry they were. She could taste the metallic tinge of her blood on those dry lips. Her eyes were stinging from all the crying, and her heart had almost given up.

“Please, Mr. Morgan, for the love of life, don’t tell anyone. And with time,” she looked up into the man’s eyes. “I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you what happened—”

“I need somethin’ to go on, Riley. Or if that’s even yer name.” Arthur spat.

He felt the urge to grab the woman in front of him by her collar and beat her black and blue, but refrained. He thought of Mary, and he thought of how much he loved her. He could never disrespect a woman after having met her.

Even if the woman was a liar.

“Colm o’Driscoll raped me every night for months, turnin’ me into a sack for his twisted pleasure. Colm knows how I look like, and I can’t be seen for the way I am…” Rebecca began.

“So you ran?”

Rebecca shook her head. “I had no other choice. I couldn’t.. I couldn’t stay there no more! I was bein’ turned into a corpse, Arthur! I had somethin’ I had to do. Someone I need to find. And besides,” she looked up at him once more. “He’s a livin’ nightmare, especially after knowin’ what he’s capable of. If he finds me, I’m done for. He’ll kill me. He’ll kill me and he’ll piss on my dead body because that’s the kind of man he is.”

Of course, Arthur wouldn’t ask but he knew. He knew there was more to that story and a simple question would have addressed it.

_Why did Colm want to kill her?_

This only meant one thing. Arthur swallowed a rock.

_What did she do?_

“Arthur, please—”

“So ya don’t talk cuz yer voice is like a lady’s.” Arthur said, shocking her.

Rebecca didn’t know what to say. She stared at Arthur as he got ready to leave. “Don’t expect no kindness from me, Riley,” Arthur said. “If ya pose a threat to any o’ us, I’ll be the first ta kill you.”

Rebecca believed him. She knew Arthur had killed before and could easily do so again with the blink of an eye. She knew he could kill her.

Yet, the words that came out of her mouth surprised him.

“Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

Rebecca followed Arthur back to camp, and saw that most of them were passed out near the fire, or had gone back into their tents. John was nowhere to be found, and Rebecca assumed he was asleep in the tent that he shared with Mrs. Grimshaw. Rebecca turned to Arthur who seemed to rush away from her. She opened her mouth to say something, but decided not to. However, when she spotted Arthur’s form come to a still, her heart began to race.

“So that day when you and John went to Fogmount,” Arthur turned around and looked at Rebecca. “You fought them men?”

Rebecca looked around before taking a few careful steps toward Arthur. She knew she had to reply verbally to him, there wasn't any use hiding the fact that she could talk. However, she didn’t want anyone to overhear even by accident. She stood a step away from Arthur, the closeness would have made her giddy if this were any other situation. She looked into Arthur’s eyes, their blueness would have calmed her if only she let them, and spoke.

“I’ve gotten by for this long, dressed as a scrawny little cunt of a man, because I know how ta’ fight, Mr. Morgan. Don’t let ma’ looks deceive you. I can kill any blind motherfucker that tries to rob or rape me now. I ain’t lettin’ nobody walk all over me again. Which is why I’m askin’ of you to keep this a secret. I’ll leave yer camp and make sure you don’t ever see me again. Just give me time.”

Arthur’s eyes widened, and his breath was stuck in his throat. He wanted to reply to her, he wanted to say something back, but Rebecca’s eyes right then were fury. He didn’t know why but he suddenly thought of how she was nothing like Mary; her harshness and aggressive behaviour wasn’t out in the open, but Rebecca was more a man than most men Arthur had met. Not a flower, timid and pretty, like Mary.

And in those eyes, Arthur noticed, fury sang the song of death.

The next morning, Arthur was the first to wake. He did what he did usually; he cleaned himself, noticed he needed a trim so he gave himself one—the sun wasn’t out yet, and Arthur wondered when he had turned into a morning person. He noticed Mrs. Grimshaw come out a while after, and put the coffee pot to boil. Arthur nodded at her, which she returned with a smile and a greeting.

Arthur thought of Mary, as he always does, wondering if she would still think of him as fondly as he thought of her. He loved her, no doubt, though he never imagined he could love someone that fondly. He remembered Eliza, who would look at him the way he looked at Mary, and remembered how he hadn’t visited her in quite a while. Eliza was a kid, barely 20 years of age now, if he thought about it.

Arthur headed to the log besides which the coffee pot bubbled, and sat himself down in deep thought. As if a wave hit him, he recalled the events of last night and shut his eyes.

“Somethin’ bothering you this mornin’, Mr. Morgan?” Susan’s voice alerted him, as she poured him a cup.

He thanked her before shaking his head. He didn’t know what he could tell her. Arthur had decided to keep Riley’s secret a secret, though he knew he didn’t have to lie for the woman. He didn’t even know if Riley was her name.

“Is it that Mary girl you breakin’ your head over?” Susan asked, smiling warmly at Arthur.

Arthur smiled back sheepishly, wanting to let Mrs. Grimshaw think what she can to save himself the trouble of explaining things to her. Susan chuckled once before patting his back.

“Women sometimes don’t know what they want when it’s right in front of them,” Arthur looked up at her. “Though sometimes, we can surprise you. If Mary ain’t the one who’ll steal your heart away for good, though it seems like she has for now, there’ll come someone you least expect that’ll knock you out. And who knows,” Susan said, with a distant look in her eye, “She might not be far away.”

A moment later, Arthur noticed Riley get out of her tent. He watched her—the way she walked, the way she rubbed the sleep off her eyes, her not so violent yawn—everything. He watched as she walked over to her horse, Luna, and rubbed its snout. Riley smiled slightly, and Arthur called himself a fool for never seeing it before. Riley turned and noticed Arthur’s gaze on her now. Her facial expression dropped, and her eyes avoided his. Her movements screamed shyness, but Arthur knew better. Riley stood there a moment before deciding to get a cup of coffee, she didn’t want Mrs. Grimshaw to think something was off. Arthur watched as she walked in front of him, and once again called himself a fool.

 _A fucking fool_ , he thought before turning away and shaking his head. A fool for not seeing it before.

For not seeing how delicately ladylike everything about Riley was. And even if she had chosen to hide away her femininity, Riley screamed woman. It was Arthur who was wrong. The only woman he was used to was a flower, blooming under the warmth of the sun.

He was not used to a woman challenging the throes of life, battling her way past things that wanted her dead.

“Good mornin’ to ya, Riley.” Mrs. Grimshaw said, to which Riley merely looked at her and offered her a smile.

Arthur could see it. Everything about her was now womanlike. Her eyes, her lips and the shape of her face.

Riley looked at Arthur watching her entire move. Her body froze when she saw Arthur’s expression lighten. It wasn’t as if he was going to keep her secret, no. There was a difference. Arthur accepted her, and let her be. He would not lie for her, she’d have to do that part on her own, but he had given her the chance she had asked for.

Which only meant that Rebecca had to keep her end of the bargain as well. 


End file.
